The hulk of the Imperial Executor dreadnought Traumatize hung in a geosynchronous orbit above the event facility, where Master Skywalker had been laid in state. The twisted monstrosity of durasteel, riddled with weapons and shield generators, with a massive thruster bank that gave it unnatural speed for its cumbersome size, stood mocking the Rebel Alliance. Its presence, with its crisp corners and razor-like precision, was an open affront to the fluidity of life that buzzed below on the surface of Denon.

It was sickening.

Serafina Hedon turned and spat, growling a curse in her native Corellian at the explicit orders not to destroy the Imperial vessel. She ached to order waves of planetary fire at the oppressive mass, to see it twist and burn before flash-cooling in the vacuum of space into a field of shining metal fragments. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the screams of the Imperial officers as they incinerated, leaving dustings of their carbon on those metallic fragments, forever bound with the machine that allowed them such oppression.

A cleaning 'droid beside her dutifully cleaned the spot on the floor of the platform she was stationed at, blissfully unaware of the murderous thoughts that roved through her mind. The floor polished, it whirred away to leave her alone on the observation deck of the platform, hanging in orbit above the new Galactic Senate building. Her heeled dress boots clicked on the shining plates as she moved to an all-but-unused stairwell, to make her way down to the command room.

The doors hissing, she was greeted by the sounds of several people talking at once, arranging communications logs and granting traffic permissions incoming and outgoing. the security codes were always verified, and dimly she could see the specks of InCom T-65 X-wings that were sent to escort some of the more prominent merchants, sent to Denon to ply their wares and keep the Rebels economy going. Her voice was short, clipped, the accent bleeding through her normally tight grip she kept. "Status report."

The departmental heads said nothing, but instead forwarded the reports to her databox. Not bothering to look, knowing that it was business as usual (she would have been summoned for anything out of the ordinary), she looked out over the curve of the horizon the ecumenopolis threw against the eternal night of space. If she squinted, she would almost be able to see the sun of the Coruscant system hanging just above the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer, as if this ship protected its home even at this distance.

As if reading her mind, and trying to shield its brainwashed citizens from the glory of the Rebellion, from the truth of their plight that Serafina would bring to them if she had the chance.

Standing at her post, Sara looked over the cityscape of Denon. It was a soothing spectacle to behold, and a welcome repast to the dreams she had been having. The TIE Defenders that the Empire had so callously thrown at Denon, seemingly oblivious to her command post had her concerned: the market numbers ran at least three hundred thousand apeice, and there fifteen of them had been without thought. She was sure the Traumatize would have more of them, and if they entered battle the Rebels could expect their X-wings, having served them well since Yavin, to be decimated... just like they had been at Endor.

Images of starfighters had floated across her vision, destroyed by the crisp emerald-green blasts of Imperial cruisers before they could fire a shot, all but two of them. One of the ships, faster than the other Rebel designs, had taken out several Imperial fighters without a seeming loss in number, while another had released a torrent of ordinance against the regime's craft, unleashing destruction in waves... perhaps these would serve well.

The Grand Air Marshal, Skyes, was out of communication at the moment, but Sara was sure he wouldn't mind her at least poking around the engineering suites at Fresia, perhaps even bringing him a couple of new designs by the time he got back from his mission. Thoughts of a promotion roved through her head as she paced the observation deck of the orbital defense platform, then suddenly she turned towards the turbolift. "Commander, you have the post."

Soon after, she was on a shuttle down to the surface of Denon, where a transport was being prepared to take her, along with two notebooks and two 'droids, to Fresia where she would be able to articulate her designs and present them to the upper brass. It would be a trick, marketing the new designs when the old ones had served so well, but it would be worth it in the long run to see what she was capable of.